Walking Dead 1. Chapter 1: Rookie mistakes

So, this is an AU that started blossoming in my head not too long ago, and took almost completely over. I know I have yet to finish Brothers in Arms, and I will, but I needed a break and this story is taking life of its own.

So, not very originally, this is a cop spinoff of sorts. A couple scenes kept on swirling around my head and I had to write it down.

I think I got partially inspired by many, many things. I watch way too many cop TV shows, and those and many movies and the comic _Watchmen_ kept popping in my head (it wouldn't do much sense to list it all here). But first and foremost, this is **Dropkicking Bullet Shells**' fault; I love both her style and all of her wonderful AU's that gave me the idea to even start plotting one. And she's helped me a great deal with this fict, working as a beta, an assistant, an adviser and, as always, as a cheerleader xD.

**Disclaimer:** Same as always. Don't own a thing.

**Warnings:** language, violence, mature themes, slash (small) Daryl/Glenn and Daryl/Rick. That's all I can think of. For further warnings, read next chapters.

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**Chapter 1: Rookie mistakes**

_**Brodie.** Slang._  
_1. a suicidal or daredevil leap; wild dive: to do a brodie from a high ledge._  
_2. a complete failure; flop._  
_3. a severe vehicular skid._  
_4. a sharp reversal in a vehicle's direction by sudden application of the brakes and wrenching of the steering wheel._

(Source:_ Dictionary dot com_)

–––

Rick Grimes joined the Atlanta PD at the age of 21. He had a girlfriend for almost one year, Lori Callies, who had large green eyes, the slander, gracious figure of a dancer and the most beautiful smile Rick had ever seen. He still didn't believe, at times, that a girl so pretty had picked _him_ of all people.

Rick had wanted to join the police department since he was a kid. His father had retired as chief of police from a small town not far from Atlanta, and Rick had always admired him and his work. There wasn't anything greater, to his eleven year old eyes, than wearing the uniform meant for those who protected and served the community.

He would have joined the force as soon as possible, six months after his 20th birthday, but both his mother and his girlfriend seemed determined to discourage his childhood dream, pressing him to pick something else (_anything_ else, really) and would constantly remind him that Atlanta was a big city, and all the dangers that a cop had to deal with on a daily basis. Rick had turned to his father for support, but all his old man gave him was a lopsided smile and a shrug.

"If they get to ya, yer not meant to be a cop, son. If ya _really_ want to be cop, you won't care about the risks." He said.

After several months of pulling and pushing, which left Rick tired and more and more frustrated, Shane Walsh came back to town. He had been Rick's best friend in high school and he'd joined the marines as soon as they'd finished school. Shane never really got into the details of why he left (or was discharged from) the army and Rick always had the feeling that it was best if he didn't know.

After almost four weeks of partying like there was no tomorrow, drinking as Viking and almost crashing his truck at least half a dozen times, Shane seemed to have let go a little of the frustration from his army days and let Rick talk some sense into him. Grimes reminded his old friend of his plans to join the police and told him about how his girlfriend and his mother were completely against it. Shane almost immediately decided to join him.

Even though Rick was skeptical – because, honestly, Shane Walsh wasn't exactly the embodiment of '_responsibility_' and '_duty_', as the past few weeks had clearly shown – it felt like a struck of luck that his old buddy from school wanted to tag along. That gave him the push he needed to make up his mind and both of them filled the application.

Lori was so upset she didn't want to see Rick for a whole week.

Rick had somehow thought that his father would be more proud, but really, Bill Grimes was never an expressive man so he just clapped Rick in the shoulder and smiled tightly. He didn't say anything directly to his son, but years later, once Bill was badly ill with pneumonia, Rick's mother told him how Bill would tell everybody that his son had followed his steps and how well he was doing in the force. Bill recuperated and Rick never mentioned what his mother had said, but he felt a little closer to his father since that moment.

–––

Basic training took 12 weeks. By that time Lori had come around and accepted that Rick _would_ be a cop. Rick had the feeling that Shane's presence deterred her from continuing her argument – he had his buddy on his side now, so it was even harder to persuade Rick.

As those 12 weeks had gone by, though, she had found an alternative plan: if Rick was going to be in the police, there was no reason he couldn't ask for a transfer to a small office in a small town where they could live a nice life in a big house with a white picket fence and all. She seemed to have their life figured out, and for some reason that freaked Rick out a little. Not that he didn't mean to build a life for them as well; he loved Lori and thought they could make a pretty nice family together, but it was just… it still seemed too soon to be making those plans, wasn't it?

Also, Rick wasn't a fan of people making plans for _his_ life. But, then again, he understood that _she_ needed those plans to feel safe, and he could give her that. He could move from Atlanta when the time came and work in a small sheriff's office. Sure, no biggie.

Not like he _loved_ Atlanta.

The first week of work, both he and Shane had ridiculously short hair, ridiculously shiny shoes and ridiculously clean, freshly ironed uniforms. They kept on being ridiculously polite and grinning a bit goofily when they didn't know what to say or do. Basically, they all but carried a huge "ROOKIE" sign on their foreheads.

It was also on his first week that Rick made a complete fool of himself.

It was Thursday, and they were getting back from their lunch break. Shane took off to get some coffee and Rick was thinking he should start with the paperwork - not that they had anything to report, but paperwork was always there. And, honestly, Rick thought some older officers (and maybe even Shane) snuck out their sheets in Rick's pile. But he was the new guy; he knew those things happened.

Anyway, he was musing about starting with the boring part of police duty when he saw a teenager hanging around the half empty officer's desks. He was wearing a black sleeveless t-shirt with a white logo on the front and had his hands buried into his jeans as he walked lazily around, looking out the windows, as if he was anywhere but in the middle of a police station. Rick frowned. He could only assume that the kid had been arrested or was a witness of something, because this part of the building wasn't really open for public – you know, official reports and all those things lying around. The kid, though, didn't look fazed at all as he strolled around, peeking at the vacant desks and the back doors that led to the chief's office and the interrogation rooms.

Rick wondered momentarily if someone had let the kid stay there or if he'd snuck in. Whatever it was, Rick was pretty sure that he should be waiting somewhere else, or at least be under someone's watch, so he gave a mental shrug, straightened his back and walk to the boy.

"Hey, there! You lost, pal?" Rick asked with a polite but wary smile.

The kid looked at him with surprise. He blinked and a second later his eyes were filled with a smug, insolent amusement. '_Yeah, he must have been arrested. More than once._' Rick thought. The boy looked like trouble.

"I'm not." The kid smirked with that same haughtiness, crossing his arms. "What about _you_?" He scoffed. He had the same southern drawl as Rick and everybody else, only a little thicker, and he dragged his words with obvious mockery.

"If you're waiting for someone, you can do that outside, buddy." Rick replied, still smiling, but his voice and his eyes had turned to ice as he pointed towards the doors.

The boy's eyebrows shot up and he let out a surprised chuckle.

"_Buddy_?" He repeated with disbelief, his grin widening.

Rick frowned, getting a little annoyed. He knew he shouldn't take the bait, but the kid's attitude was as petulant as one he would find in a five year old. So he widened his own tight smile and pointed towards the door again.

"Public is not allowed in here. So, if you could please…"

"Step out?" The teenager completed his sentence, still grinning like a damned Cheshire cat. It was really starting to piss Rick off.

"Yes. Please." Rick nodded sharply and shifted his weight between his feet.

The boy started laughing quietly. He tilted his head backwards and narrowed his eyes at Rick, studying him.

"Yer one of the rookies, ain't ya?" He asked.

Rick gaped for half a second. How could he know…? But that wasn't important; the kid had to get out.

After another moment, it occurred to him that maybe the sassy kid could be, in fact, the son (or nephew, or whatever) of someone in the office. Rick _was_ new, so he couldn't know that. He hesitated. If that was the case, then he was being unnecessarily rude – although the kid had started it (_yay_! for grownup arguments) – and could end up in some kind of trouble. Still, he could say he didn't know, because he _really didn't know_.

"Are you… waiting for someone?" Rick said, and his voice betrayed his sudden insecurity.

"As a matter of fact, I am."

"Huh…" Rick ran his fingers through his hair. Crap. "You should still wait outside. As I said, this isn't really open for public."

"Who says I'm _public_?" The teenager shot back, still amused as hell, and his eyebrows were so high on his face they almost met his hairline.

Rick opened his mouth, but couldn't think of a quick retort for that. _Oh, God, don't let him be the chief's son_, he thought suddenly.

Someone was walking towards them and Rick met eyes with one of the detectives he'd seen around the office a few times. He was carrying a sports bag over his shoulder and had sweatpants on.

"Hey." He greeted them, and didn't seem surprised to see the kid.

"Took ya long enough." He smiled and shook the inspector's hand before patting his shoulder.

Rick cleared his throat.

"Sorry, sir, do you know him?" He asked the detective.

Said man stared at Rick in confusion and then back at the kid, who was grinning madly again.

"_What_?" The detective all but shouted. "You're kidding, right?"

Rick blinked, and that bad feeling he was having turned into a certainty. Oh, he'd screwed up somehow.

"Rookie here thinks I'm lost." The kid commented, rocking on his heels.

The detective cocked an eyebrow.

"He's my partner." He told Rick.

Rick's jaw went slack, his thoughts shooting away in multiple directions at once._ ('_Partner_'? But he can't be older than…) (Oh, wait, partner in _what_ way exactly?) (He's still too young for _that_, right?)_

"What?" He asked with a weak voice.

"Inspector Dixon." The kid – well, man – said, offering his hand. It looked as if the smile was never going to wear off from his (freakishly young) face.

Rick looked between both of them, still thinking – or hoping; it was a thin line, really – that this was a joke. After a few seconds, when nobody laughed, he started to believe it wasn't.

"But you're… How old are you?" Rick said, looking helplessly at the man.

Dixon chuckled and his partner groaned a little.

"I never get tired of that."

"Yeah, we all know, you'll still look twenty when you're fifty." The detective shot back, rolling his eyes.

"Envy is an ugly thing, T-Dog." Dixon admonished his partner.

"Shut it. You're the one who still needs to show his license to buy frickin' _beer_."

Rick felt like the ground should open and swallow him whole right then and there. Inspector Dixon should be, at the very least, three years older than him. Oh, this was going to be painful; he would be teased over this forever, he _knew_ it. His ears started burning.

"How old did ya think I am?" Dixon was asking Rick, who had to process and back up a step to remember the question.

Rick blushed and stammered something unintelligible.

"Leave him alone, he's just a rookie." T-Dog chided him.

"I'd just like to know." Dixon shrugged and looked critically at the mortified Rick before turning a little bit serious. "It was a good decision, to ask someone you don't know to get outta here. Only, next time… ask 'em if they don't _work_ here first, right _kid_?" He added with a wicked smirk.

Rick groaned inside his head. Just as he'd thought, Dixon wasn't going to let this go anytime soon.

The story of his confusion spread fast enough, but he wasn't teased as badly as he thought he would be. The guy _did_ look like a seventeen year old boy, nobody argued with that. And, as soon as Rick realized that Dixon existed, he also realized the guy wasn't exactly popular.

Rick started paying attention to him, because, well, he couldn't help but being a little sullen and ashamed of his slip. Yet, the man was never really around, and when he was, he usually was either working while drowning cup after cup of that lousy coffee they had or talking to his partner. It didn't take long for Rick to figure out that he didn't _talk_ to anybody else on a regular basis, and even when he did, he was usually snaky and harsh, and pulled up sardonic remarks too often.

Well, at least Rick wasn't the only one mocked by him.

The inspector would call him _kid_ every chance he got and Rick had the feeling that Dixon actually looked for him around the station just to be able to call him that. The first few weeks were even more extenuating than they should've been thanks to that, but after a while Rick got used to it and tuned the other man out. He could've been (and had been) called worse, anyway.

–––

Part of being a rookie was doing all the boring, unpleasant jobs. Rick found himself picking up coffee, patrolling with older officers around the _quietest_ streets in Atlanta, standing guard in crime scenes for hours on end while waiting on the CSI and the coroners who dealt with the fun part while he had to stand still (under scorching sun or pouring rain) and tell all the curious people that there was nothing to see, keep on moving; sir, please don't take pictures; ma'am, please mind the tape. And after all the forensic experts left, sometimes he still had to keep on watching that nobody messed with the crime scene until the case was closed.

The first time he actually drew his gun out, apart from target practice, was around a year and a half after he had joined the force. Rick was, at that point, no longer a rookie _per sei_ (although some older cops would always call him that at times, he guessed) and was working along with the Vice Squad every chance he got, already having in mind joining in when he was promoted to inspector. That had caused him some more fights with Lori, who would have wished he chose a less dangerous area, but she gave up easier every time.

Shane was working with Vice too, which was a little bit ironic considering how much the man loved to drink and gamble, but whatever.

Anyway, they were called in for backup in the arrest of a minor drug dealer. Rick and Shane were left in the back and never got to see said drug dealer up close, but they were up above their heads with excitement.

Next time they were called in as backup, around five months later, they managed not to be left in the background. They didn't do the actual arrest, but they were free to search around the place –where they found both drugs and illegal guns, to no one's shock – and go back to the station to see the guy get processed.

The man, who looked to be in his late forties, was handcuffed and sitting languidly in a bench as they came back. He was big and a little fat, had a military haircut and was wearing big, heavy boots and clothes that looked like they hadn't been washed in a week. Kind of the stereotype of a drug dealer, really. He didn't seem worried at all; in fact he was singing an old army song, completely off key, and swinging his head around.

"He drunk?" Shane asked Rick with a snort when they saw him.

Rick shrugged.

"Probably. Probably more than just drunk too."

"Hey, sarge!" The man called when the head of Rick's and Shane's team walked past him. "Long time no see!"

"Rooker." Sergeant Jones nodded with a crisp expression on his face.

"How long's this gonna take, huh? I ain't got all day, y'know? Got business to attend to, people to see…" The drug dealer slurred with an accent so thick Rick had to make an effort to understand him.

"You know the drill better than most." The sergeant replied coldly.

"Do I?" The man laughed. Both his voice and his laughter were raspy and uncomfortable. "An' where's that rat bastard of yers? Ya gotta tell 'im to be here on time, sarge."

"He's on his way, Rooker. _He's_ got a work to do, and _you're_ not going anywhere anytime soon, so you better sit still. Now shut the fuck up." Sergeant Jones added, kicking the bench where Rooker was sitting to make his point, but the other man only grinned at him with his crooked, yellow teeth and started singing louder as soon as the cop had turned his back.

"This should be interesting." Shane muttered with a smirk.

It took almost two hours for someone to shove Rooker into an interrogation room. Shane called for Rick's attention and pointed towards it with a questioning face. Rick looked around, considering, and finally nodded. They snuck into the observation room, only to meet their sergeant, the same that had been talking to Rooker, face to face.

"What tha _hell_ are you two doing here?" Sergeant Jones asked, more surprised than angry.

Shane and Rick exchanged a look before Shane smiled and put on his most innocent expression.

"We were just… we wanted to see how this is done. You know, questioning a suspect… Just to, you know, learn the drill." He mumbled.

Rick almost rolled his eyes, but managed to imitate Shane's naïve face.

The sergeant looked them over, frowning. Rick hoped that he didn't know that this wasn't the first time they snuck in to watch an interrogation.

"Stop grinning, Walsh." He finally said, cocking an eyebrow. "Now come in and close the door. And keep quiet for once in your life."

Shane nodded briskly and did as he was told. He winked at Rick and stood a little behind the sergeant. Rick almost snorted, before turning his attention towards the man in the interrogation room.

Rooker seemed as relaxed and delirious as he did before and was humming again and taping the table along with the rhythm. It sounded like a country song that Rick wasn't familiar with.

"How long do they let him sweat?" Shane asked with his hands in his pockets and closing his face to the glass until his breath left a small smudge.

Jones groaned a little, obviously starting to regret having Grimes and Walsh in there.

"Does he _seem_ like he's sweating?" He asked back sharply. "He's _singing_, for Christ's sake! He's crazy, or drunk or drugged or a combination of the three. I've seen this guy many times before; his kind ain't afraid of cops. He's been coming in and out of jail since before you were _born_, Walsh."

"Actually, I'd say he's humming." Shane commented quietly, stepping back again.

Rick couldn't suppress a chuckle this time. Jones glared at Shane.

"Shut up, will ya? One more word and I throw both of ya out."

Shane nodded again as if he understood, but he didn't seem sorry. He probably wasn't sorry at all.

They waited for another ten minutes – Shane had taken out his cell and was playing Snake, much to Rick's amusement and the sergeant's annoyance – before the door opened and inspector Dixon came in, with a folder under his arm and a tired look on his face.

"_What?_" Shane jumped, immediately forgetting he wasn't supposed to talk. "What's _he_ doing here? He's not even from Vice!"

Inspector Dixon was part of the Gangs and Guns Squad. They'd been working there for over a year, so both Shane and Rick knew the people from the station now.

Jones shot his subordinate an angry look, but answered none the less.

"Rooker doesn't talk to anybody else."

"Why?" Shane demanded.

As on cue, Rooker finally stopped his awful singing and greeted the other man.

"Hey, baby brotha! Was startin' to think ya weren't coming."

"Shut up, Merle." Inspector Dixon growled as he sat in the chair in front of Rooker and opened the folder. He started massaging his temples as he read what was inside.

Rick was stunned. He glanced over at Shane, who seemed just as surprised.

"'_Brother'_? They're _brothers_?" Rick stuttered. "But… But their names aren't the same…"

Jones gave him his best '_are you stupid, or what?_' look.

"Dixon's their mother's last name. He had it changed."

"You _knew_ that?" Shane exclaimed, strangely indignant.

Jones turned to Shane again, and he seemed to be losing all his patience by now.

"Of course I did! You deaf?" Jones sighed and started rubbing his nose, trying to calm himself down. "This guy gets arrested too often, like once every year or something. He always cuts a deal and throws some big dealer to us and ends up serving minimum or making community service. Once, he didn't even do that, and walked out."

"But…" Shane started.

"When we bring him in, he never talks to anybody else. We tried. He kept asking for his brother, 'cause he knew he worked here."

"But he's a frikin' _dealer_! How can he just _walk_?" Shane inquired angrily. "Does his _brother_ have anything to do with that?"

Jones was the one who snorted this time.

"Yeah, _right_. You watch. Dixon would toss his brother in a cell and throw away the key if he could. Let him rot to death. But the bastard always has good names for us. And he's got friends in high places." He replied.

"Still…"

"Walsh, _shut it_!"

Rick was listening to them, but he was also paying close attention to what was happening in the interrogation room. Dixon had finished reading and had sit back and sighed with exhaustion.

"What's the matter, Darlynna? Rough shift?" Rooker snickered.

"Yer selling yer shit to _kids_ now?" Dixon asked, paying no attention to the previous remark. His accent, that was always thicker than most of the people around the station, seemed to grow heavier in front of his brother, though it still wasn't as bad as Rooker's.

"That's what they told ya? C'mon, Daryl, ya really think I would _do_ that?"

"Yes." Dixon answered without hesitation.

"Wow, I'm _hurtin'_ here. Thought ya knew me better than that." His brother said, feigning sadness. He was a horrible actor.

"Cut the crap, Merle."

"What crap? I'm tellin' ya the truth, the whole truth and nothin' but the…"

Dixon slammed his hand on the table, but the other man didn't flinch. Instead, he grinned.

"Watch that temper, brotha. Yer gonna give yerself a stroke or somethin'."

"I want _names_."

"What names? I know a lotta names…"

Dixon glared. Rick knew that he wasn't a patient man in any way what so ever and had seen him stare at people around the station before, but never like this. This time Dixon was really pissed.

There wasn't much resemblance between the two brothers. Dixon was slightly smaller, had blue eyes and that strangely young face, while his brother had dark brown eyes and his forehead was covered in wrinkles. Rooker simply _looked_ mean, dirty and disheveled. Dixon seemed almost too clean, freshly shaved and well-dressed next to him, even though he was just wearing a cheap suit – policemen could never really afford much else.

They didn't look alike, but the way Rooker could easily push Dixon's buttons was a tell-tale. Rick had a brother named Jeff who was two years younger, and though they had grown apart in the last three years or so, they always knew just how to piss the other off in record time. Family was like that.

Rooker, of course, didn't seem even slightly impressed by his brother's anger.

The door next to Rick opened and T-Dog Singleton, Dixon's partner walked in. He frowned and shot a look of confusion at Shane and Rick, but didn't ask what they doing there. Instead, he just talked to Jones.

"How's he doing?"

"Nothin' yet." Jones said with a shrug.

Inside the interrogation room, Dixon was speaking again.

"Fuck you, Merle." He growled, taking a menacing posture with his hand over the table. "We bust you every time, an' ya know I would be the first one to throw yer ugly ass in a jail cell if I could. So either give me names an' cut yerself a deal or I'll personally drag ya ta prison."

That seemed to get to Rooker. Anger flashed in his face and he almost launched himself over the table – as far as his handcuffed wrist allowed him to – and barked back a reply.

"Yeah, I know that, ya rat bastard. Ya'd sell me out fer free if ya could." He spat with disgust. "Ya turned on me the moment ya left."

"I don't owe you nothin'. I never owed you nothin', so why should I give a shit what happens to ya?" Dixon replied coldly.

"We're the same _blood_!"

"So?"

"Ya piece of shit." Rooker grumbled, laying back on his chair. "Denyin' yer own family as if we were nothin' but bags o' trash."

There was a pause. Dixon was tense, still with that hard, cold look in his eyes, but it didn't seem like he was going to lash out again. Instead, after a few moments, he spoke slowly and deliberately:

"I told ya, Merle: give me names or I'm gonna tell the boys to get a cell ready fer ya."

Rooker glared and shifted in his chair, but didn't answer until his brother pulled back his chair to stand up.

"Blake. Phillip Blake."

Daryl stared at him for long seconds, disgust evident in his face.

"Where do we find him?"

Rooker gave the address of a house in one of the bad neighborhoods from Atlanta. Dixon wrote it down and turned to leave the room.

"I'll say you asked fer yer attorney." He said. "Stop selling yer shit to kids, Merle, or there ain't gonna be no deal next time."

"Always good to see ya, baby bro."

"Fuck you." Dixon snarled.

"Fuck you too." Rooker replied, flipping his brother off before the door slammed shut.

Singleton left the watch room as soon as his partner was out in the hall. Jones followed him. Rick, on the other hand, wasn't too eager to see the already pissed off inspector and let him know that he'd been watching his little family reunion and stood right where he was.

Shane, though, was as stupid as ever. He stood in the doorway and said, loud enough for everybody around to hear:

"Nice brother you have there, _Dixon_."

Rick grimaced and slapped himself mentally for not stopping his moronic friend in time before pushing him out of the doorway and towards the bullpen where they were supposed to be working. Actually, no, they weren't; their shift was over, so they weren't even supposed to be in the station.

Dixon's head snapped up when he heard Shane's words. The anger in his eyes was almost the same that he'd shown towards his brother, and it made Rick want to disappear. Or kill Shane. Or both.

Singleton flinched and quickly stood in the middle of Shane and Dixon, holding his hands up in a peace gesture.

"Whatcha doing in there?" Dixon barked.

"They were just…" Jones started, glaring at Shane.

"Daryl…" Singleton said, quietly.

"Shane, _shut up_!" Rick mumbled into his friend's ear, avoiding eye contact with the furious inspector and trying to pull Shane away.

"Hey, we busted him! We had the right to watch that." Shane replied, sneering.

Jones groaned in exasperation at that and Dixon was brimming with rage

Rick grabbed Shane's arm tightly and started dragging him away.

"Shane, _shut the _hell_ up_!" He exclaimed.

–––

Rick left the station as soon as Sergeant Jones was done chewing them out. Rick understood it fully; Shane was his best friend, but he couldn't deny that he was prone to taking things always one step too far. Or two. More like a few feet too far.

Either way, Jones had asked Rick to keep his friend in line, and this was something that was happening all the way from high school. Rick had always been more grounded and cautious than Shane, who dived head first into the most dangerous or reckless situations he could find. It would appear as slightly suicidal from him if he wasn't an ex-jock and ex-marine (of some sort) with big muscles. No, it was more probable that Shane simply loved to pick fights, especially the ones he knew he would win.

It always ended up like this, every figure of authority always placing Rick as Shane's babysitter. Rick wasn't sure he was all that successful when it came to that task, but he wasn't sure if anyone else could've done a better job either.

Shane had argued Jones' repremandment, by (not too brightly) addressing the fact that Dixon wasn't exactly everybody's favorite guy around the work place. Jones had looked like he wanted to smack him in the head in return.

"No one likes him!" Jones had shot back immediately. "His partner's the only one who can deal with him, but this isn't a popularity contest, Walsh! Just because ya were Prom King, ya can't come 'round pickin' on yer _senior officer_ and pryin' into other people's business."

"I wasn't pryin', you let us stay there!" Shane had protested – once again, _yay!_ for grownup arguments. It wasn't a surprise to Rick, but Jones had literally facepalmed.

"Only 'cause I didn't think ya were stupid enough to go _braggin'_ 'bout it!" He had said, throwing his arms up in frustration. "Ya need to come down to reality and realize yer _not_ in high school anymore. Ya can't go pickin' on the people you work with unless ya want to get suspended; ya can't do _whatever the hell ya want_! Everybody 'round here deserves respect, especially yer _fellow officers_. And, I hate to break it to ya; Dixon may be the biggest ass in the county, but he's one of the best cops we got. So, keep it up and _you'll_ be the one walkin' out that door!"

"That ain't…!" Shane had practically jumped, but Jones' warning expression and Rick's shifting next to him made him stop.

"Ya better watch it, Walsh. Ya better stay in line or you'll be outta here real soon." Jones had finally replied. "Now get the hell outta my sight. Ya won't get involved in any other bust in the next months. Both of ya."

Rick had nodded; he knew this wasn't _his_ fault, but he wasn't about to start arguing about it. Not now, at least. Shane, on the other hand had collected his things and stormed out.

"Ya should keep an eye on yer friend, Grimes." The Sergeant had advised him. "He's gonna get himself in the worst kind of trouble if he don't get his head outta his ass."

Rick had nodded again. He knew that already, only… only Shane was his friend, and Rick had never been sure how to tell a friend that he was a jerk.

When Rick had left the station, Shane was already gone. Rick guessed it was for the best; otherwise, he would have felt compelled to tell him what the Sergeant had said and that wouldn't have ended well for anyone involved.

Rick was renting a small apartment half across the city – he hadn't found anything cheap near his work – so he started walking towards the bus stop, thinking of what he should do about his friend. He agreed that Dixon wasn't the friendliest person ever, but he also agreed that Shane had crossed a line. Rick tried to imagine how he would feel if he were interrogating a member of his family and there were a bunch of rookies staring at it behind the window and then teasing him about it.

_Nice brother you have there, Grimes!_

Yeah, it had been uncalled for. Especially since Dixon hadn't done anything to wrong Shane personally; he was distant and abrasive with everybody, but Rick didn't think those two had actually talked to each other before this.

It was a cold night. Rick was absentmindedly looking at the closing stores and the restaurants that he walked past and he almost missed the sight of Singleton and Dixon sitting at a bar. When he realized it, Rick stopped and walked back.

The two partners were drinking beer and talking loosely. Rick wondered if he should go there and apologize. He was sorry he'd listened to an obviously private conversation, but that's all _he_ had done; making an apology seemed a bit humiliating and intruding now that both inspectors were off the clock and hanging out. Maybe he should leave it until they met again at work.

But… but they didn't meet too often at work. And, besides, being in the station gave Dixon the opportunity to degrade Rick even more. In front of everyone. Plus, Rick knew that postponing an apology only made it worst, harder to say and less believable. So he decided to swallow his pride and (reminding himself he was saving himself from and even more mortifying situation), entered the bar and walked resolutely towards the two men.

"… remember? That jackass looked like he was gonna pee himself, I swear!" Dixon was saying. He grinned into his beer and Singleton laughed before noticing Rick's presence.

Rick cleared his throat, feeling extremely nervous. He was already regretting this.

Dixon turned to him and he looked really surprised for a second, before a suspicious expression took over. Rick breathed deeply and braced himself.

"What do _you_ want?" Dixon barked at him, before Grimes could collect his thoughts.

"I-I…" Rick stuttered, thrown off balance. "I wanted to apologize. For… you know… what happened."

Singleton made an almost pained face that wasn't precisely encouraging. Dixon, on the other hand, was looking at Grimes from head to toe, sizing him up, and Rick shifted under his scrutinizing eyes and he started speaking again, unable to stop himself.

"I-I know Shane can be something of a…"

"A dick?" Dixon suggested, narrowing his eyes and lifting his chin in a dare.

Rick considered himself to be a good friend, the kind that would always defend his friends when someone talked bad about them. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to protest in that moment; partially because he was trying to make amends, not start a fight, and also because he had to admit that the man had the right to believe that Shane was a dick. And because… well, he was actually _scared_. There was no way he could take this guy if it came to that.

"You could say that." He nodded, feeling like a traitor. "Anyway, I-I just wanted to say I'm sorry. We never intended to pry or anythin', we just… we were there during the bust and wanted to see what happened. We didn't know…" He trailed off, feeling his cheeks starting to burn. Oh, how he sucked at this.

Dixon's face was an unreadable mask, while his partner shot Rick a worried look. When the silence stretched and Rick started to fear for his safety, though, Singleton intervened.

"Daryl…" Was all he said, but that seemed enough to pull the other inspector out of his trance.

"You two enjoyed that show?" Dixon asked coldly.

Rick's stomach felt heavy with guilt and anxiety.

"No." He replied quickly, shaking his head vigorously. "No, I swear. We never meant to… No."

Dixon turned to face him completely and Rick instinctively took a step backwards. Singleton's hand fell on Dixon's shoulder.

"Daryl, the Kid's apologizing." He said so quietly Rick almost missed it. His voice was even and soothing; it was the same way a trainer would talk to a spooked horse.

Dixon shook him off, but once again his partner seemed to have called him back to his senses. He glared at Rick for a few more seconds before grabbing his beer again and taking a sip.

"Ya can tell yer friend to go shove one up his ass." He growled. "He's got nothin' to do stickin' his nose in other people's business unless he wants it broken."

Rick nodded again, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. He wasn't going to get punched in the face and that seemed to be the best he could hope for right now.

"He's got it broken before. He hasn't learnt." He mumbled, trying to smile.

Dixon studied him once again before turning to face the bar.

"Ya shouldn't trust those kinda people, Kid; it's just gonna bite ya in the ass." He said before motioning the bartender to get him another beer. There was a short pause. "And ya shouldn't apologize for other people's bullshit. Two things I learnt with ma brotha."

Rick opened his mouth but closed it right away – arguing was the last thing he should do right now. And that seemed strangely personal. He looked at Singleton with confusion, and the other man shrugged almost imperceptibly and smiled the tiniest smile. He seemed way more relaxed now, and that had to be a good sign.

"Trust me, Kid, yer better off without people like that." Dixon muttered darkly.

"He's not that bad." Rick replied without thinking. And just like that, he was back at square one.

Dixon, however, only snorted bitterly and shook his head in response. He peeked at the younger man out the corner of his eye and suddenly he straightened and patted the stool next to his.

"Ya should have a drink." He said. Rick glanced at Singleton again, and the inspector appeared to be as surprised as him. "C'mon, Kid, sit!"

Rick hesitated for a few long seconds, looking for some kind of sign about what was going on, if this was a good idea at all. Singleton shrugged again, although he seemed a little uncertain. So, in the end, Rick obeyed and then he asked the bartender for a beer. He sat there, with his back almost painfully straight and tense, waiting for whatever was about to come.

"So… Grimes, right? Where ya from?" Dixon asked with the same calculating stare he had used when interrogating his brother. Rick groaned inwardly and felt annoyed, exhausted and really, really small, all at once.

"I'm from Chattanooga. It's a small town." He answered, playing with his beer between his hands and trying to put on a poker face.

"Yeah, I know the place. Any particular reason ya joined the force?"

"I… Well…"

Singleton stood up and put one hand on his partner's shoulder and the other one on Rick's.

"Hey, why don't we sit down over there?" He asked with a warm smile, pointing towards one of the small tables behind them. "That way we can all see our faces."

Rick could have kissed him. He agreed immediately, looking at the man with big, relieved eyes. Dixon frowned, but consented.

When they sat, Rick still felt like he was a suspect of something, because Dixon was looking at him like he was, and Singleton was trying to be supportive. They had that whole 'good-cop', 'bad-cop' thing going on full force. No wonder they were a good team, really.

For some reason, Rick thought it felt like being a teenager again and getting scolded by both his parents. And strangely enough, Singleton would be the mother – even though he was a big, bald, black man. The image made Rick want to giggle like an idiot. He wondered how the hell he had ended up here, when all he wanted to do was apologize.

He guessed that's what happened when you messed with a policeman.

"So, why'd you joined the force?" Dixon repeated.

"I… My dad's a cop. He was the chief of the Chattanooga's office." Rick answered. Thankfully, the pause had allowed him to get his cool back up.

"Most of us do that." Singleton chimed in, clearly trying to keep this as far away from an actual interrogation as possible. "My dad was a cop too. He got shot when I was thirteen. Died a hero."

"I'm sorry." Rick said, meaning it. He knew that his own father had been in dangerous situations a few times before he got a desk job. His mother had been so happy when he did. "Yer not from Atlanta, right?"

"No, I'm from Philly. I don't talk like _y'all_ southern people." Singleton chuckled.

"When did ya move here?" Rick asked, sipping from his beer and trying to avoid Dixon's glare.

"Uh… Around five years ago? I met this girl that was from Georgia and followed her here."

"Stalker." Rick muttered.

Singleton laughed and even Dixon snorted a little.

"Anyway, she dumped my ass. But I liked it here. People are so… _different_ in Atlanta."

"An' you met somebody else." Dixon pointed out, looking at his partner with a strange smirk, halfway between amused and… bitter? Maybe. "An' she wouldn't move from here."

"That too." Singleton acknowledged.

He had succeeded at distracting his partner from bullying Rick; although Dixon did ask why on Earth he was friends with Shane. Rick had breathed deep and then answered as truthfully as he could and said that they had both met since they were children and that Shane had kind of taken Rick under his wing in high school, allowing him to hang out with the cool kids and occasionally saving him from getting beaten when he tried to defend his brother, and eventually some other smaller children. So, in his eyes, Shane wasn't such a bad guy – he was just reckless and frustrated.

Then Singleton chimed in again and changed the subject, and that was that.

When Dixon went to the bathroom, almost half an hour later, Rick let out a loud sigh of relief that made the other man chuckle.

"I think you're off the hook." Singleton said with that oddly _kind_ sincerity of his.

"Thank you." Rick replied, earnestly. "I think I'd be dead by now if ya weren't here."

"Nah." Singleton shook his head, amused. "He would've given you a hard time, maybe, but that's it." Rick wasn't so sure, but made no comment. "He ain't stupid; he knows your friend's the one that tried to piss him off."

"Looks like he succeeded." Rick stated, twisting his mouth in disapproval.

Singleton observed him for a moment.

"Daryl's right, you know? You shouldn't apologize for other people's mistakes."

Rick hesitated, having almost forgotten that this guy was a cop too and was taken aback by his honesty. In the end he dropped his gaze and sighed.

"I seem to always do that." He admitted, fumbling with the empty ashtray. He guessed there was no point in lying to this man. "But I was in the watch room too."

"But you were not the one mocking Daryl about his brother." The inspector reminded him. "I don't think you would've done that."

"I wouldn't. It was uncalled for."

"Yes it was." Singleton nodded.

Rick opened his mouth to ask something (_just how the hell did Singleton got along with Dixon when nobody else did?_) but he stopped himself in time. That wasn't his business, and he had gotten in enough trouble already for prying into the inspector's life – even if he hadn't meant to.

"Hey, Daryl!" A voice called from behind the bar, and Singleton turned his head instinctively. Rick followed his gaze.

Dixon, who had just come out of the bathroom, approached the person greeting him and responded with a tight smile. It was a young Asian man, and Rick wondered vaguely if he, too, was way older than he looked like. Otherwise, it was probably illegal that he was working here.

Rick made a mildly surprised face, but he was actually stunned when he noticed Singleton didn't know who the kid was either.

"You know 'im?" Singleton asked his partner when he came back, with a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Yeah, he's… He lives next door from ma aunt. He needed a job." Dixon replied, obviously uncomfortable and trying to shrug it off.

Singleton only let out a "Huh" but his eyes showed a glint of mischief. Dixon glared and (if Rick wasn't mistaken) kicked him from under the table.

Rick cleared his throat, and said something about needing to get going. The other two agreed to that and stood up. When Rick paid for his beer he absently smiled at the Asian man. The man smiled back and then peeked at Dixon with a bashful expression. The inspector seemed mortified.

Rick's inner cop jumped at that, and he looked at Singleton who seemed to be hiding his smirk by looking intently at his shoes.

Rick wasn't sure if he wanted to know what this was about.

_(Oh, screw it, of course he did! He was a cop, after all.)_

–––

Grimes waved his goodbye, said he was sorry once again and walked away as quick as he could. Daryl rolled his eyes.

They started walking towards T-Dog's car and he turned to his friend.

"Shut up." Daryl grumbled even before the other man got to ask. "It ain't whatcha think."

"I didn't say anything." T-Dog replied, feigning innocence.

"He _is_ ma aunt's neighbor. She _asked_ me to help 'im." Daryl repeated, hating himself when he felt his cheeks start to burn. It was the truth, but he wasn't at all used to talking about those things, not even to T-Dog, not to anyone.

"Whatever man, I believe you."

"Screw you." Daryl huffed. To his friend's knowing eyes, though, Daryl was almost _pouting_ a little.

T-Dog laughed out loud. He knew Daryl would never really get mad at him.

* * *

_Reviews, anyone C:?_

_Even though I hadn't seen the movie yet when I started writing this fict, I'd seen pictures of one of Norman Reedus' first movies called "Floating". He was 27 when it was filmed, but he looked like a sixteen year old. That inspired that scene with Rick's confusion. And also, if Daryl was a cop, his background had to change and his relationship with Merle couldn't be the same. Both those scenes were the funniest to write._


	2. Chapter 2: Changing course

Wow, I don't think I've _ever_ gotten so many 'favorite story' and reviews in so little time. Makes me think I should try and write more AUs instead of my usual canon-freaked ficts xD.

Anyway, thanks to ya'll for your support and encouragement (**Dropkicking Bullets Shells**, **DeDe324**, **Ihasabukkit**, **velvetemr73**, **PhantomWatcher1** and **KagXmi**) You're wonderful, and yeah, even the littlest review saying "go on!" is amazing to me.

**KagXmi**: Rooker is the last name from Michael Rooker, the actor who plays Merle. As most of the TWD characters don't have last names (I mean, it's the end of the world, who gives a crap about that) I took the ones from the actors. I watched the clip from Norman Reedus in Mimic and I agree, he's absolutely adorable.

By the way, Daryl's age will come up. I'm making him six years older than Rick. Damn Norman Reedus and his mysteriously young face!

**Dropkicking Bullet Shells** was also my beta for this chapter (part of it, at least). Just to point out, this story wouldn't exist if it wasn't for her.

I haven't written next chapter yet, but I know where it's going.

**I don't own anything or make any profit.**

* * *

**Chapter 2: Changing course**

_The Chinese word for "crisis" (危机__,weiji), is formed by two ideograms:_

• Wēi (危)_ that means "danger"._

• Jī (simplified: 机, traditional: 機)_ that, among various other meanings, can be translated as "opportunity" or "chance"._

(Source: _todofluye dot wordpress dot com_)

–––

"I just don't get why you don't care." Lori says for what may be the tenth or thousandth time. She sounds more tired and sad and uncaring each time.

Rick doesn't answer. It's been a while since he's given up on trying to explaining to his girlfriend just how much this job means to him and why he doesn't want to leave. She won't understand; he's tried everything, every angle, every example, every analogy he can think of, and she still doesn't get it. Probably, because she doesn't want to understand.

She wants something other than what he's giving her, he knows that, but he doesn't know what that is or what to say. He could lie to her and promise that he will be what she wants, but he doesn't want to. During this past months Rick's life has taken a turn; he's finally reached the stage of his life he's been waiting for since he was a kid, he's fulfilling his dream, and it's everything and nothing of what he always thought it would be. It's more brutal, more frustrating, more exhausting and more _real_ than he could have even imagined. And he _loves_ it more deeply than he could have expected. He's finally being _himself_, he's finally being _Rick –_ just _Rick_, no family, no past glories or humiliations hanging on his back, pulling him down.

The taste of freedom is intoxicating. He can't give it up now, no how.

And during this time Rick has started to be honest with himself, about everything. What he has found was a surprise and still is; Rick is _not_ who he thought he was. And he wants to change that, he wants to become the person he feels he should be; he's confident that he can do it, and he's trying as hard as he can. Every day.

But he can't tell Lori that, even if he's taken the trouble to make a place for her in his fantasy life. She won't understand. She doesn't want to understand. She doesn't want to join him on his adventure; on the contrary, she wants him to be what he's always been – or maybe someone else entirely. Rick doesn't listen anymore, and her place in his life seems to get smaller and smaller, more surreal every time she starts saying that this is not what she was expecting, or what she needs.

Rick doesn't care anymore about what she wants, because he can't afford to. Not if he is going to be half of the man he wants to be.

So he lets her words slip between them without taking them in. Maybe if he doesn't listen, they will disappear. Maybe if he doesn't lift his head and fight back things will resolve themselves. Or maybe they'll fall apart.

Honestly, Rick isn't sure which one he prefers anymore.

–––

Rick handed the waiter a twenty and looked absently at some point behind the counter.

"Hi." A hesitant voice said.

Rick lifted his eyes and blinked, suddenly pulled out of his thoughts. He met a pair of friendly slant eyes and a smile.

"Hi…. Uh, you're, uh… You're one of Daryl's friends, right?" The young Asian man was saying.

Rick blinked again, trying to understand what the hell was he talking about.

Rick was in a diner near the station. After a few moments he caught on and recognized the cashier as the (apparently) new bartender from the bar he'd met Dixon and Singleton almost two weeks ago.

"Uh, hi." He finally responded and waved awkwardly. "Yeah, I remember you. Sorry, I guess my mind was somewhere else."

"I noticed." The kid said, looking knowingly towards the place where Rick and Lori had been sitting before she made up some excuse he didn't really hear and walked out. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but it sounded bad." He added with a sympathetic smile, handing Rick back his change.

Rick smirked without humor.

"You could say that."

"Life's tough, man. Hey, uh… Have you seen Daryl?" The boy asked, lowering his voice a little.

Rick stared blankly at him. _Who the hell was '_Daryl'_?_

Then he remembered. Singleton was the only one who called his partner by his first name around the station, so it wasn't so odd that Rick didn't recall it.

"Uh, yeah, I think. Yesterday, maybe." He answered.

"Oh." The young man seemed disappointed. "You know if he's in today?"

Rick was either still half spacing out or something because he wasn't getting much of this.

"No idea. I don't talk to him." He answered, frowning in confusion.

The boy seemed taken aback by it and his smile almost disappeared.

"Oh. Sorry." He muttered.

Rick immediately felt guilty for his roughness and cleared his throat.

"It's alright. Sorry about that." He rushed to apologize. "I don't really talk to him. The only one who does is his partner; the other guy that was in the bar."

He felt he had snapped out of his daze at last, and noticed for the first time that the boy was wearing a name tag that read 'Glenn'. Rick remembered that very, very strange night and his curiosity about why Singleton had been teasing his friend resurfaced.

"I'm Rick, by the way. Rick Grimes." He said, pulling his best smile and offering his hand.

Glenn visibly relaxed and shook the hand with his own.

"Glenn Rhee."

"Nice to meet you. Mind if I ask how ya met Dixon – I mean, _Daryl_?" Rick inquired. After he was done talking, he had to wonder exactly when he had started to talk like a cop. Really, he only needed a couple dark, aviator sunglasses and he could be the scary policeman from Psychosis.

It was a creepy thought.

"Uh…" Glenn hesitated. "His aunt, I think, is my neighbor. She asked him if he knew of any places where I could work." He explained, looking a little anxious again.

"Oh." Rick shook himself mentally and forced himself to keep on talking. Like, you know, a _regular_ person; not a cop questioning a suspect. "I was just wondering. As I said, he ain't exactly friendly."

"Yeah, he's kind of blunt." Glenn agreed with a half grin.

"Ya can say that again. So, uh, you want me to give 'im a message?" Rick asked politely, begging that the answer was 'no'.

"No, don't worry." Glenn replied, shaking his head. "I was just thinking… I'm new in town, and I don't really know anybody yet. I thought you were one of his friend or something."

It was Rick's turn to give a sympathetic smile.

"I'm sorry to tell ya, but if ya want to meet new people through _Dixon_, that's a dead end. As I said, as far as I know that guy doesn't talk to anybody except his partner."

"Then why where you hanging out with them?" Glenn asked, interested.

Rick thought this man was maybe too prone to asking without thinking. Thankfully, though, it was obvious he didn't mean any harm – he was just overly curious. Like a little boy, really.

"I was… apologizing. One of my friends had said something… out of line, and I was trying to make up things."

"Oh. Did it work?"

"Not really." Rick admitted truthfully.

"Sorry to hear that." Glenn smiled.

"Not as much as I am, trust me." Rick replied, smiling right back.

He liked this kid, he realized. Of course, he didn't know him, but he seemed to be funny and open. It was more than he could say about most of the people he knew.

"Hey, uh, if you still want to meet people, I guess I can help ya." Rick said on impulse. He only realized how weird that sounded after he heard himself say it.

Glenn, though, smiled widely.

"Really?! That's awesome-sauce!" He exclaimed, excited. Rick snorted loudly at that in surprise and couldn't help but starting to laugh. Glenn blushed up to his ears. "I-I-I've this friend who used to say that all the time. I-I guess it-it stuck." He tried to explain, getting flustered.

Rick had to steady himself against the counter and took a few deep breaths to calm himself. He wasn't sure if he would've found that so _funny _if he hadn't met Lori and gotten into another argument just fifteen minutes ago, but still. It felt good to laugh, even if it was a little hysterical.

"Sorry. I wasn't expecting that." He apologized when he managed to talk again. "And I mean it, really. I only got here last year, so I know how it is."

Glenn nodded and then cheered loudly. A few customers shot dirty looks at them, but neither of them minded.

–––

To say that Rick's intervention hadn't helped things between Dixon and Shane was something of an understatement. Both men were acting just as anyone could have predicted and just as if Rick hadn't even existed (well… at least he hadn't made things worst). The only good that Rick had ever done was keeping Dixon and Shane away from each other, as did Singleton.

The few times they had met – when Singleton and Rick hadn't been able to stop it, that is – Shane and Dixon had started a bizarre staring contest that later developed in an exchange of subtle threats and insults. It was a frightening thing to see, honestly; mostly because Rick couldn't help but picture a fist fight in his mind, a fight he wasn't sure who would win. Shane was a couple inches taller and his shoulders were broader – and also, Rick knew very well how muscled his friend was, because Shane was nothing but an exhibitionist. Dixon, though, never seemed scared at all; if anything, he looked like he _wished_ for a fight. Rick couldn't help but wonder if he had some sort of martial arts black belt or some other kind of trick under his sleeve – God only knew.

For some reason, Dixon always reminded Rick of a wet cat when he was angry; Shane, on the other hand, always seemed like a mad dog. It was as if those two were just meant to fight.

Anyway, Rick and Singleton – who were by now almost officially their friends' handlers – had managed to keep it as low as possible so far.

It wasn't long before Rick found himself distancing himself from Shane, maybe a couple of months. He had never liked his friend's mean streak, but it had never come between them because Rick had always been too afraid of calling Shane out on it. Shane was Rick's closest friend, after all, and he couldn't stand to lose him, so he'd made up every excuse and tried to justify every impulsive behavior from Shane, thinking about his friend's bastard of a father and him being just immature and whatnot.

How fucked up was _that_?

But Rick felt that this was the last straw, that he couldn't let this one slide. His life had changed during the time he'd spent living in Atlanta and the old ways didn't do anymore. He had also met a bunch of new people, and even though they weren't all _good_ people, they gave him the possibility to be someone else, someone new. It was always hard to change around the people that knew you for too long – old habits being hard to kick and all that. That was happening with Lori, too.

Did that make him weak? Did that meant he couldn't deal with things properly so he took the easy way out, simply running away from all of them? Rick wasn't sure, and that made him uneasy.

Shane never asked what was happening, even though Rick saw it in his eyes, and a bitter tension grew between them. Shane would never demand to know why someone was leaving him – he was too proud for that. No, Shane let Rick go his way, even if his smile became more of a smirk than anything else, even if he knew that Rick was lying when he said he had other things to do and couldn't hang out. He eventually stopped inviting Rick. They never stopped talking altogether, but there was no use pretending they didn't know they were not friends anymore.

At times, Rick almost wished that Shane had asked, or said anything at all. It would have made things clearer, no matter if it meant that whatever unlikely friendship they ever had was now over.

Looking back, it was lucky that Rick had met Glenn when he did. Being in the station, around Shane, became hard and uncomfortable and soon Rick found himself talking with the young man over the counter of the diner at odd hours. Glenn didn't have much free time, though, because he worked both in the restaurant and the bar _and_ delivering pizzas during the weekend. Rick thought he couldn't have managed, but Glenn never complained much, even if he started nodding off at work (especially in the mornings). The few occasions they both had time to hang outside work, Glenn usually fall asleep on Rick's couch after a short while, and the cop could never bring himself to do anything but smile sadly.

When Rick asked why did he worked so much, Glenn gave him a sour smile and said he needed money and he couldn't ask his parents. It sounded more like he _wouldn't_, but Rick didn't push it.

–––

It had been a long, long shift. Rick had mostly just being patrolling today since before dawn – he had taken a rookie, and that made him feel looked up to – until they had responded to a crime scene and had gotten trapped in a big, busy street, between the CSIs, the media and the public. There had been a multiple car crash and the place was buzzing with cameras. The spotlight was hardly theirs, usually no one paid attention to the cops, but that didn't make their job any easier, really. Rick had actually had had to get an especially obnoxious reporter to back down, and almost arrested that same man a while later when he had crossed the police line when he thought Rick couldn't see him.

And no one ever thanked them. Rick wished he could stay away from crime scenes, or at least stop being the _bodyguard_ at crime scenes. He thought it would probably change as soon as he was named inspector; luckily for him, Sergeant Jones liked Rick (it was Shane the one that drove the Sergeant over the edge) and had half-promised him a place in Vice as soon as Rick was eligible for promotion in another two months.

He was getting ready to (finally) go home when someone called him.

"Hey, Kid!"

Rick looked up. After the first few weeks he had grown used to the nickname Dixon had decided to give him. Now that he'd been working here for almost three years, most times he could tell when the 'kid' was meant for him and not somebody else (and even when it wasn't, he still looked around to see who was calling him).

Rick nodded as a greeting, but wondered warily why the man was talking to him. In his experience, it never ended up anywhere good.

"Long shift?" The inspector asked in that slightly mocking way of his, burying his hands in his pockets.

Rick's eyebrow twitched in the perceived derision to his job. Sure, he was just an officer, but that meant he usually got the heavy lifting.

"Yep. Ended up in the car crash scene." He answered curtly.

Dixon nodded, looking like he was sorry. Rick didn't buy it, but didn't say anything; instead, he just yawned, shifted his weight and looked at the inspector with his most annoyed face before speaking again.

"I'm going home, Dixon. I'm beat."

"Oh, c'mon, Kid, it's still early…"

"My shift begun at four AM." Rick cut in coldly. "I had my face full of TV reporters for _three_ hours."

Dixon smirked and Rick could have punched him for it.

"We were just thinkin' you've been here for almost three years. Time to see some real police work, dontcha think?" Dixon said, narrowing his eyes in an amused way.

Rick blinked, wondering what was that supposed to mean and why was the inspector telling him this.

The promise of lunch was the only thing that got Rick to yield. In the aftermath, though, Rick could've hit his head against a wall, because he'd sold himself over a sandwich. That 'real police work' turned up to be sitting in a car in one of the rough neighborhoods, waiting for something that Rick couldn't bring himself to care about.

He sat on the back, rubbing his tired eyes and yawning his head off for almost ten minutes before Singleton asked him how long had he been working.

"Since four. _AM_." Rick replied in a growl and feeling a migraine building.

Singleton shot his partner a disapproving look, which Dixon completely ignored.

"You want coffee?" Singleton asked Rick. He sure was a momma bear, wasn't he?

"I'd kill for one."

The inspector stepped out of the car and Rick followed close behind. No way he was staying alone with Dixon; it was all _his_ fault to begin with. Rick was supposed to be sleeping, damn it! If only he hadn't left himself get convinced by the sociopathic man.

It wasn't until they were in the line to order coffee and the promised sandwich that Rick dared to ask.

"What am I doin' here, Singleton?"

The inspector looked at him before glancing at the big menu that was placed on the wall again.

"I've been working for ten hours, and I got stuck in a car crash scene for over three." Rick pushed it, trying the guilt angle. "Why am I here?"

Singleton shifted a little before he seemed to give a mental shrug and turned to Rick.

"I'm getting promoted next month." He said. "Chief Horvath is retiring, several people will climb up in the chain of command, and there's a vacant as Sergeant in my squad."

Rick stared, waiting for more information.

"Congratulations. But what does that have to do with me?" He insisted when nothing else came. He stifled another yawn.

They had reached the end of the line and Singleton told the coffee shop employee what they wanted before answering to that.

"I'm leaving most of the field work. Daryl's gonna need a new partner."

"Yeah, but _what_ does that…Wait, what?" Rick exclaimed in disbelief. "You gotta be kiddin' me."

Oh, this had to be a joke. It just _had_ to be.

"I know it doesn't _seem_ that way, but he likes you." Singleton assured.

That wasn't what Rick had meant at all, what he meant was… Hold on.

"_What_?!" Rick almost shouted. Several heads turned in his direction, but he didn't pay them any mind. "He _likes_ me? He doesn't do anything but make fun of me! He makes fun of everyone!"

Singleton made a knowing face and took a deep breath.

"I know he'd kind of a handful…" He started. Rick snorted. _That_ was an understatement. "I know. Believe me, I know. But he's a good guy, beneath all that crap he pulls up."

"That's hard to believe." Rick huffed. "Yer the only one who can stand him, so…"

"It's an act, Grimes." Singleton insisted. "Most people buy it. I didn't." There was short pause. "He had three partners before I showed up. They didn't last more than eight months each, I think. The department didn't want to fire him 'cause he's a good cop, even if he's not a team player, so they used me as a last chance. As soon as he realized I wasn't going to try and put a leash onhim, we worked fine."

Rick shook his head.

"Yeah, sure, you make it sound easy. I don't think I've ever talked to him without Dixon threatening me or downright mocking me. So, excuse me if I don't buy it."

Singleton smirked at that.

"He called me Philly for over two months when we first started working together. It took him _that_ long to learn my name, and sometimes he still calls me that, and he still makes fun of the way I talk." He told Rick. "You've seen him with that friend of yours, that Walsh guy. If Daryl didn't like you, he would either ignore you completely or glare at you like he does with Walsh. Hell, he would've gotten into a fight with Walsh by now."

"We're not friends anymore." Rick muttered. "But I'm sure there's a lot of people he doesn't ignore or glare at. Why _me_?"

The employee handed him their coffees and the sandwich. Rick poured sugar in his cup, but never lost sight of the inspector.

"You gotta ask _him_ that." Singleton shrugged.

"Yeah, right."

"I don't know. Daryl's picky. He's always reminded me of a street cat; you can leave it food and crack open the window, but if it doesn't _want_ to, it won't even look at you."

That had to be the strangest analogy Rick had ever heard someone say out loud. But it made sense. Still, it wasn't the point.

"Oh, c'mon, I've seen the way you two work. I'm sorry, but it seems to me like you have to clean up after every mess he makes." He argued. "It's _that_ really worth it?"

"He's a good friend, Grimes, even if he doesn't like to show it."

"That doesn't make any sense!" Rick protested.

"It does. You just don't know 'im."

"I don't wanna know 'im! He dragged me all the way here and wouldn't even say why! I've been working the whole frickin' day! You think I'd wanna work with someone like that?"

If Singleton had a good answer to that – though Rick highly doubted it – he never knew. They had stepped out of the store, and the inspector glanced towards the car before replying. Rick saw him make a double take and turned around.

The car was gone.

Perfect.

"Where is he?" Rick asked, clutching angrily at his coffee.

Singleton had taken out his cellphone and was calling his partner. After a few tries, there was an answer.

"_What?!_" Rick could hear Dixon's voice from the other end.

"It's me. Where are you?"

"_Stolen car. I'm on pursue. Gotta go._"

"Wait, where….?!" Singleton stared at his phone and pocketed it with a sigh. "Nice to know he's using that headset."

He took out his radio and started asking about the stolen car report.

"Never a dull moment." He winked at Rick and the kept on pushing for answers about his partner's location.

Rick pinched the bridge of his nose and wished his headache away. It was going to be a long day.

–––

Daryl threw his cell phone on the passenger seat and made a sharp turn. Leave it to T-Dog to have bad timing. The car thief wasn't a very good driver; he seemed to be panicking, he had almost run over a couple of people so far and scarped against a couple of other cars. Daryl, on the other hand, was almost grinning. He wasn't usually involved in chases, and that made all the more fun.

He had been the second to join to the pursuit. He had heard on the radio about it, and they had been so close to his position he decided to tag along as back-up.

The stolen car turned and headed through a big street. Daryl took the car radio and informed it to the station. There were several patrol cars around the area and most of them headed to cut the thief's way.

Daryl almost laughed when he saw the street blocked by two patrols. The stolen car stopped abruptly, leaving skid marks all over the place. Daryl slammed the breaks, jumped out of the car and took out his gun. He stood at safe distance, aiming at the stolen vehicle.

"_Put your hands in the air! Come out of the car with your hands in the air!_" A voice commanded through a megaphone.

There was sudden movement inside the car and Daryl saw a couple of hands obediently waiving in the air. That was a good sign, really; the guy wasn't going to try and do something stupid.

"_Step out of the car with your hands in the air!_"

The car door opened and the guy took a shaky step out. He was small and clearly scared out of his mind. No, this was no hero.

"_Get down on your knees and put your hands behind your head!_"

The man obeyed quickly – it seemed like his knees would've given up anyway – and a couple officers walked towards him, arms still drawn out as caution, and handcuffed him. Daryl put his own gun away and came to them, smirking as he thought that this had ended rather easily. If only it was always this way.

"Ya got here quick!" Daryl told one of the arresting officers.

"There was a car crash a couple of blocks away this mornin'. We were there." The man said and the other hauled the handcuffed car thief to his feet before pushing against him the stolen car to check him.

It was only then that Daryl noticed the all too familiar baseball cap and the shirt that the thief was wearing. Something inside his stomach felt heavy and he walked around the car to see the man.

He felt his face hardening and his jaw clenching when he recognized the pale kid in front of him, even if he kept his head as down as he could. He had recognized Daryl as well.

"Everythin' ok?" The cop searching the thief asked when he stood up.

"No. I know 'im." Daryl spat with cold rage.

The kid still didn't look up. It didn't make Daryl feel any less angry.

"Ya know 'im? One of yer gang kids?"

"No. Name's Glenn Rhee. He lives next door to ma aunt." Daryl said, glaring at the man, who flinched a little, either because of the words or because of the fury in inspector's voice.

"… Ya've got an aunt?" One of the officers asked. For some reason, that seemed to surprise him more than anything else.

Daryl didn't bother to answer and kept on staring at Glenn as they took him towards one of the patrols. The boy never lifted his head.

–––

Rick had been about to bail and go home – he didn't care what any of the inspectors thought, and he was tired to the core – when he heard in Singleton's radio that the car thief had been arrested, and that they had an ID.

Singleton turned to look at him when Rick let out a shocked exclamation and asked him if he knew the guy. Rick explained that he worked in the diner and the bar near the station before remembering that Glenn knew Dixon – he actually talked about 'Daryl' often, and apparently liked him, if only for getting him the jobs he had.

Singleton grimaced when Rick mentioned that.

"Oh, _him_." Was all he said, but Rick could tell he was worried.

They decided to take a cab and get to where Dixon was.

The street was almost clear by the time they got there. They found Dixon standing around the stolen car with a grim look on his face. Singleton gave his partner the coffee he'd ordered and stood next to him.

"You owe me ten bucks for the cab" He told Dixon.

"Where's Glenn?" Rick asked, looking around.

Dixon's eyes snapped to Rick's face.

"In one of the cars." He answered briskly.

"What did he say?"

"Whatcha mean?"

"He couldn't… He actually _stole_ a car?" Rick inquired, shifting nervously.

Dixon scowled.

"What, ya think he ended up in there by mistake?" He snapped. "He stole that fuckin' car!"

"But he… Why? Why would he?" Rick insisted, shaking his head in disbelief.

"'Cause he can? 'Cause he wants to? How tha fuck should I know?" Dixon growled.

"Ya know 'im, he's not… he's not that kind."

"An' what tha fuck do _you_ know 'bout 'im?" Dixon shot back. "If ya think 'cause he's a fancy kid from Michigan he won't do this, then ya know _nothin_'!"

Rick frowned, and after a short pause he set his jaw and faced the other man. He could've backed off, but between his headache, his concern about Glenn and this man dragging him around and simply not giving a shit that he was exhausted he didn't feel like it.

"I think I know him a lot better than _you_ do." He said.

"Ya think 'cause he's yer friend he can't be a thief? Really? Do ya still believe ya live in that perfect little town of yers?" Daryl replied, stepping closer to Rick. "Well, ya better start opening yer eyes and realize _everybody_ can do this kinda things. There ain't no _good people_, Grimes, the only difference is some people _choose_ to do good things and others don't."

"Well, maybe he didn't have a choice." Rick argued. He knew his position was weak, but he didn't want to give up. He wanted to believe that Glenn was a good man. And he'd failed to defend Shane before, he wasn't about to do the same with Glenn, who was actually a far better guy than his old buddy had been.

"People _always_ have a choice." Dixon snarled, practically showing out his teeth in a feral way. "_Always_."

"Ya don't know that! Maybe…"

"The hell I don't!" Dixon cut in. "What, ya think I ended up been a cop while my fuckin' brotha is a fuckin' drug-dealer by _chance_? Ya think it was _luck_? No way, _I_ put me here! I chose to be here, I did everythin' I had to do to be here, so don't ya dare tell me he didn't have a choice!"

Rick was left speechless and Dixon glared at him a little longer before walking away, grumbling something under his breath.

Singleton sighed and finished his coffee.

"You should go home." He told Rick after a long pause.

The officer could've lashed out – he was feeling humiliated enough by what had just happened to be treated like a baby. For a moment, he wanted to. But he wasn't like that, not really. And Rick thought he was man enough to accept when he was wrong instead of trying to deny it or act out on it.

"Yeah, probably." He finally admitted and rubbed his tired face. "If you get a chance, please tell Glenn I'll swing by when I can."

–––

When Rick got home, he collapsed on top of his bed and was fast asleep before he knew it. He woke up somewhere in the middle of the night, shivering, and tried to decide between keep on sleeping or eat something first. His stomach let out a growl and that made up his mind for him.

Rick stumbled into his little, messy kitchen and put water in the boiler and opened his fridge. He had some left over Chinese food and after sniffing it cautiously, he decided to reheat that.

It wasn't until he was finally eating that he went over what had happened that day. He had been too tired to reflect on it carefully on the way home – he cursed Dixon again for keeping him from his well-deserved sleep.

So, Glenn had been arrested driving a stolen car. If Dixon so firmly believed that the young man was guilty, then Glenn hadn't put much of a fight. And, really, how probable was that he _hadn't _done it?

But why would he? Rick would never truly believe it had been his idea, and despite everything Dixon had said about people choosing what they did, Rick knew it wasn't so simple as that. God knew he had done some things he didn't like or agree on because he hadn't felt strong enough to say 'no' or to impose his better judgment – it was never something as big as stealing a car, but it was the same principle, wasn't it?

It still didn't make it legal, but Rick didn't find it in him to condemn so ruthlessly what Glenn had done. He had known the young man enough to know that Glenn wasn't a bad person.

"_There ain't no _good people_, Grimes, the only difference is some people choose to do good things and others don't._"

Well, that certainly was another take on things, and Rick could understand that position, but he didn't mean it that way, that there were good people that only did good things. He just believed that Glenn wouldn't steal a car because he wanted to; someone or something must have forced him to do that.

His shift begun at 4 am again. It was only after 12 pm that he could he time to go and check on Glenn. The boy was meeting with his attorney, which could be something of a relief, so he had to wait for a while until the lawyer – a black woman with a confident demeanor that put Rick at ease – left.

"Hi." He called, stepping in front of Glenn's little cell.

The young man looked up in surprise. His eyes were bloodshot and red rimmed. Rick guessed he had barely slept, if he had slept at all. Glenn's face scrunched in sorrow and for a moment Rick though he was going to cry, but the young man only dropped his head.

"How are ya?" Rick asked with a concerned voice.

"Bad." Glenn answered and rubbed his face.

"What did yer lawyer say?"

Glenn looked up to Rick once again, and he seemed a little bit surprised and relieved. The officer guessed it was because he wasn't trying to blame him for what happened. No, he was actually trying to be supportive.

"She said I could get a deal. I-I didn't mean to… I… I owe money. To some bad people. It was either helping them, or…" He made and uncertain gesture and Rick could very well imagine what would've happened if Glenn didn't pay. "I have to give them up and I could do community service. I don't have a record, so… But I will have one now, probably."

Rick crossed his arms and leaned against the bars. He nodded, understanding.

"Could've been worst." He said.

"I know." There was a long pause. "I'm so sorry, Rick, I swear I… I never meant for this to happen. I swear." He babbled with big, pleading eyes. Rick nodded again. "I needed the money when I moved here, and I thought, '_sure, I can pay back soon enough_', but… But I couldn't. I was stupid, I know. I should've though a little more about this, or I should've just… asked my parents. Swallowed my pride and asked them, but I really thought I could pay back in time."

"How much was it?"

"A couple grand."

Rick's jaw fell.

"A couple _grand_?" He repeated, stunned. Glenn shrugged, looking miserable. "Oh, Glenn."

"I screwed up." Glenn muttered. "I screwed up so fucking bad. They were gonna kill me, man! And now… they're gonna kill me anyway. And Daryl… Daryl got me those jobs, and he didn't have to. He was so _mad_. Why did he have to be there?"

Rick looked at his feet. He was really feeling for Glenn, but there wasn't much he could do right now. Anyway, if the kid was going to get out of this rather easy – thank whatever God you pray to for that – he was going to need help to keep afloat and pay up his debts as soon as he could.

"I could've helped you if you needed money." He said. "I don't have much, but…"

"No! No way, dude." Glenn cut in, shaking his head. "You've been great, and I couldn't…"

"Screw that. I'd rather help you than have you stealing cars." Rick insisted. His tone was gentle. "I can lend you some money when this thing is settled."

Glenn stared at him with a mixture of wonder and regret.

"You're awesome, Rick. Really awesome-sauce."

Rick shifted and kicked the ground.

"It's a southern thing." He dismissed the compliment, a little awkwardly.

"Yeah, I guess it is." Glenn replied, smiling a little. "You people are something."

In the end, Glenn was able to exchange three months of community service and the information on the car thefts for just a misdemeanor conviction. Rick thought it was the best outcome there could have been.

At the end of the month Singleton got promoted as he said he would be. No more had been said about Dixon and him needing a new partner, much to Rick's relief. He was still ashamed and sullen about their little argument and angry at being dragged around with no explanation what so ever. Rick still thought there was no way in hell he could work with someone like Dixon.

Singleton said that they would go out to celebrate his promotion and invited Rick, who declined as politely as he could even though he was almost shocked – he guessed this man was either very, very good and generous or very, very mean and secretly enjoyed seeing people feeling uncomfortable.

The jury was still out on that.

He congratulated Singleton anyway. Rick got caught in conversation with some other officers on his way out. They were discussing the next football match on the way to the Super Bowl. Most of them were obviously fans of the Atlanta Falcons, even though said team hadn't won in over ten years (the people at the station kept saying '_this is the year, I _feel_it!_'). Rick had nodded and shrugged, though he had never paid much attention to football before he moved to Atlanta.

"Not gonna happen! The Giants are sucking this year!" A guy named Kendal was arguing.

Someone cleared his throat.

"Gentlemen." A voice interrupted and all of the officers turned around to look at Singleton who was grinning. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but in case you haven't been informed, it's the Eagles year._Eagles_, no _Falcons_."

Almost all voices rose up in protest.

"Yeah, right!"

"No fuckin' way!" Kendal laughed.

"Go back to Philly, Singleton!"

"Hey, we're up the Falcons by far!" Singleton insisted.

"My ass!"

"Since when?"

"What games have you been watching, again?" Singleton mocked. "Eagles are heading straight to the finals!"

A hand closed around the inspector's bicep and he turned around. A stern looking woman was standing behind him and Singleton immediately pulled up a sorry smile. The woman looked familiar to Rick, who frowned and tried to remember where he had seen her before.

"Oh, hi, baby! Sorry, I was just…"

"Talking big. No way Eagles are winning this year." She cut in and then smiled. The officers laughed. "Now let's go. I have forty five minutes left."

Singleton nodded and waved the rest of them goodbye. Rick stopped him.

"Hey, uh… She yer girl? She's a lawyer, right?" He asked in a whisper. Singleton seemed surprised, but nodded. "She's the one who defended Glenn. She's good."

Singleton cracked a half grin.

"She's a killer." He agreed.

"Well, thank her for that. And thank you." Rick said.

"Me? For what?" The inspector inquired, confused.

Rick hesitated.

"You asked her to take his case… right?"

Singleton's eyebrows shot up and he let out a chuckle.

"Not exactly." He replied. "I could have, yes, but I don't know the kid too much. It was Daryl's idea. And money. Her consults are expensive."

Rick blinked.

"Why?"

Singleton shrugged.

"That's a long answer. Look, I've gotta go, but we can talk later." He promised and patted Rick's shoulder. "See ya, Grimes."

–––

Contrary to popular belief, Daryl _could_ be nice and charming – he just never bothered to do that. It exhausted him and he didn't really trust people, so why should he?

That night, though, it was T-Dog's party, so he felt compelled to behave. Within range, of course, but '_behave'_ for Daryl Dixon's standards. Thus, he was trying to join the others and blend in; to participate in the ridiculous debate about football, baseball or some other meaningless sport. Sure, Daryl knew sports could be fun and distracting – he had been a member of the track team back in his high school days – but also mind-numbing and downright stupid when overly enthusiastic (more like borderlining fanatic) people came in.

But this was T-Dog's party, so he tried to keep such opinions to himself and keep the roughness to the minimum. Some people seemed surprised by it (they didn't say it, but it was evident) and were way too eager to talk to him and get to know this walking riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma that was Daryl. He realized this and all the attention made him edgy and nervous.

But this was T-Dog's goodbye party. T-Dog, who was as friendly as Daryl was not, so there were a lot of people celebrating his promotion. T-Dog, who would usually try to smooth things on Daryl's behalf when he was being rude; who would laugh at Daryl for being so uncomfortable with so many people around him – and especially, so many people _paying attention_ to him – but who would eventually go over there and offer Daryl a way out of the spotlight.

But T-Dog wasn't focused on Daryl tonight. Daryl wasn't trying to get his attention anyway. Quite the opposite, he was gradually fading into the background, drinking quietly and trying not to show how much this was already starting to hurt, how lonely he was already feeling. He would never state this out loud, but he knew it deep down.

When he decided he couldn't stand any more socializing, he chose to go. There was no point in sticking around and ending up sitting alone and miserable for everybody else to see. So he said goodbye to T-Dog and hugged him briefly. T-Dog said "see ya around" which was too close to an admission of his departure for Daryl's liking, so he nodded curtly and backed away without an answer. He couldn't say it, no. He wouldn't admit it so easily. It hurt too much.

T-Dog only shot him a knowing look (God, how did he do this? How did he always know everything?) and made a sad face that his (former) partner didn't see once he disappeared from sight.

Daryl stepped out in the coldness of that damned night and shook his head. He decided to go buy some whisky (even though whisky had been his father's favorite, and he hated his father, Daryl admitted he liked the drink too) and drink his grief away privately.

Yeah, that would be best.

–––

Glenn had completed a month of community service the first time he saw Daryl again since he had been arrested. There had been no confrontation, no calls, nothing. And, as much as Glenn feared to face Daryl's anger and disappointment (the disappointment part was the worst), the silence was almost worse than anything.

That Sunday, though, as he left the homeless' shelter he had to work in (it wasn't so bad; far better than prison) someone called his name and he turned around to meet Daryl in the flesh. His stomach immediately dropped to somewhere below his knees.

They stood there, Daryl shielded behind his sunglasses and Glenn unable to look anywhere above the other man's shoes for long excruciating seconds.

"Need a ride?" Daryl finally broke the silence with an annoyed tone.

Glenn jumped a little, almost like he had been hit and slumped his shoulders even more.

"Not really. I-I came by bus, and…" He stuttered.

"Shut up and get in the car. It's free." Daryl cut in and walked resolutely to the department's car he had for himself.

Glen hesitated, and threw a few glances towards the bus stop a few blocks away. He didn't like to take the bus, really, because it took an unnecessarily long detour and it got crowded at this hour on work days, but riding with Daryl was the last thing on the list of things he wanted to do right now - even beneath getting his face mauled by a rabid raccoon or get a prostate exam.

The car honked sharply a few times and Glenn gave up, leaving his fate in the hands of Buddha and Jebus.

"Thanks." He muttered so quietly he doubted the inspector heard it when he took his place in the passenger's seat.

"Seat belt." Was the only answer he got, and Glenn rushed to obey the command and buckled up with slightly trembling hands.

Daryl didn't speak at all during the ride. The radio was on, but so low that Glenn barely distinguished the songs it played – not that he cared about it right now. He sat as still as he could, with his hands folded in his lap and feeling his back cramping up with knots of anxiety for almost fifteen minutes. His neck started to hurt too because of the stiff way he kept on looking out the window and opposite to Daryl.

"I'm sorry." He heard himself whisper suddenly, and it surprised him almost as much as it relieved him to finally break that God-awful stillness.

Daryl didn't answer, so Glenn cleared his throat and risked a brief peek in the cop's direction.

"I'm sorry. Daryl, I am." Once again, there was no reply. The only reaction he got was the tightening of the Daryl's grip on the steering wheel.

Glenn's mouth usually went on over-drive when he was nervous, making him ramble endlessly (and usually pointlessly), but for once, he found absolutely no words. He was so ashamed and regretful because of what had happened (and especially because of _how_ it had went down) that he didn't even found the strength to explain himself. He had passed enough time explaining to Rick and his lawyer and so many other people that he already knew the reasons he had for stealing those cars weren't exactly good reasons. They were pretty stupid, honestly.

And, come to think about it, he was rather certain that the last thing Daryl wanted was idiotic justifications. He would probably call them for the bullshit they were.

So Glenn just hung his head with a sigh, trying without success to relax his back and neck without moving in any way into Daryl's space.

He was deeply relieved when he saw his street, then his apartment building and the car finally stopped. Though, as desperate as he was to get away from Daryl less-than-comforting presence, Glenn still felt he needed to say at least one more thing. He cleared his throat once again.

"Rick told me about the lawyer." Glenn said. Daryl's head snapped in his direction, but the younger man kept on talking before he could say anything. "That you found her and paid her. I owe you way too much. I swear, once I get out of all these debts," _If I _can_ever get out of the debts,_ Glenn thought. "I _will_ pay you back."

Daryl frowned deeply and seemed to want to ask something, but in the end he changed his mind.

"How much you ownin' still?" The cop finally said.

"I'm... I don't own anything. I don't. I-I-I'm doin' fine." Glenn stuttered, as evasively as he could – which wasn't much, because he looked a lot like a deer in the headlights.

"That's not what I asked."

"Well, I-I am. Rick, he-he lent me some money, so…"

Glenn couldn't see Daryl eyes behind his sunglasses, but he was certain that the man's scowl had deepened.

"Was that enough?" Daryl cut in, impatiently.

"Enough? Y-yes. Of course it was. Why wouldn't it be?" Glenn replied.

"Yer lyin'."

Glenn was caught a little off guard by that swift come-back. Daryl was right, of course, but there was no way he would ever ask for anything from this man.

"N-no."

One of the cop's eyebrows quirked up.

"Yer a terrible liar."

Glenn sighed in defeat and looked away, chewing on his lip. Oh, he knew he couldn't lie; he had known it ever since he was a kid, and to his eternal disappointment, he never learnt how to do it. He couldn't even keep a surprise party a secret (and it had cost him a _lot_ of mocking and dirty looks) or play poker. No, no such thing as a poker face for Glenn.

"I know." He admitted quietly. "But you've done too much for me already, I can't…"

"Pipe down." Daryl interrupted once more. "I can lend you more money if ya need. And ya _are_ goin' to pay me back, you can count on that. I'm not gonna break yer legs if ya don't pay on time, so it's not such a bad deal as the one ya had before. But – and I want to make myself crystal clear – I never _ever_ want to even hear yer doin' somethin' like that car theft again, do you understand?" His voice rose up and hardened as he talked, so the last part was as close to a drill sergeant as Glenn had ever heard in real life.

He nodded obediently in response.

"Of course. I, uh, thanks." He muttered with a mixture of fear and relief.

Daryl ignored his gratitude (as he had done every single time before) and opened the glove compartment. Glenn quickly shrunk to allow him space and swallowed hard when he saw the grip of a hand gun pointing at him. Daryl searched for a few seconds before pulling out a checkbook.

"How much?"

"I-I don't… I don't need it n_ow_." Glenn squeaked weakly. The shame of the whole situation crushed him once again.

"_How. Much_?" The cop repeated in a voice that left no place for protests.

So Glenn gave what he thought was two thirds of his remaining debt. Daryl studied him for long seconds from behind his sunglasses before writing the check for around five hundred dollars more than what Glenn had said.

"Wait, that's not…!" Glenn started to protest, but a sharp look made him stop.

"Ya better use it well. There ain't more like this commin'." Daryl warned, handing Glenn the document.

The Asian man didn't make any movement to take it, so Daryl huffed and took Glenn's hand and closed it tightly around the paper.

"I don't know- I don't deserve- I don't know what to say." Glenn stammered, feeling his fingers cold and numb around the check, and looking between it and Daryl's hidden eyes. His eyes started to itch a little and a thick and painful lump formed in his throat. "You shouldn't- You don't have to do this. For me. You barely know me."

Daryl shifted, obviously embarrassed.

"I know ya enough." He answered tersely. "An' I know where ya live and I'm a cop, so doncha think ya can run away with that."

Glenn shook his head vigorously, holding the check tightly against his chest.

"Never!" He promised with an almost shocked face. It would've been funny if Daryl hadn't felt so awkward under in that given situation. He wasn't good at handling other people's emotional outbursts.

"Good."

They sat there for a few more seconds. Glenn still thought he should keep on thanking this man (They barely knew each other! And Daryl had done so much, so _very_ much for him already!), but he recognized it would only make things more awkward for the cop. So he just looked at him with big, thankful eyes until Daryl shifted again and took off his sunglasses.

"Stop lookin' at me like that. And get out." He said.

"Ok. Thanks again, Daryl." Glenn couldn't help but add as he struggled against the seat belt.

When he looked back up, Glenn met the other man's eyes and caught a strange expression in them. His first thought was that it was… sadness? But that wasn't it, and it startled Glenn a little.

"Get out." Daryl repeated, more softly this time, and pointing towards the building like one ushers a dog away. "Tell ma aunt I'll come by tomorrow at 2."

Glenn smiled a little, torn between the enormous gratitude he had for Daryl, the happiness, the self-loathing and the nagging feeling there was something he was missing in that look Daryl had given him a second ago.

He stepped out of the car and closed the door with another muttered 'thanks'. Daryl left and Glenn entered the building, trying to process it all.

The nagging feeling chased him for almost ten minutes until, even though he had of other things on the top of his mind, until it suddenly came to him.

_Longing_. That was it, that weird look. Glenn stopped in the middle of what he was doing (making something to eat) and felt a rush of something almost as complicated as what he had been trying to decipher. It scared him at first. He didn't understand it.

Or wasn't it longing? He sure as hell didn't know what longing _looked_ like. But he couldn't shake the feeling that he was right, even if Glenn himself wasn't sure what it could implicate.

When he decided it was true, though, he felt something else. He felt he _understood_. There was no way he could be sure it was the same thing for both of them, but God knew Glenn was feeling his fair share of loneliness lately.

Loneliness and longing where pretty much alike, right? At least they were alike in the look on Daryl's face. It probably was a little bit of both.

* * *

...

Ok, I know this chapter wasn't very amusing, but things will pick back up a little.

I don't know a thing about American Football – I don't know much about sports as a general topic and I'm not from the USA, so it's not strange. I barely knew that Super Bowl were the finals. I researched in Wikipedia to for the few facts shown here. If they're wrong, feel free to point it out.

By the way, T-Dog's girlfriend is supposed to be Michonne. She'll be making more appearances. Dale will show up as well. And Andrea_._


End file.

Walking Dead, Crime, Friendship